


Exodus

by Scriptor_Bellum



Category: Predator Original Series (1987-1990), Yautja - Fandom
Genre: Abuse, Blood and Gore, Eventual Smut, F/M, Forced Prostitution, Hurt/Comfort, Prostitution, Romance, Sexual Content, Sexual Slavery, Smut, Strippers & Strip Clubs, but my brain is blanking on me so I'll add more as I think of them <3, whew I feel like there are more warnings I need to put??
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2020-05-15 01:09:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19284991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scriptor_Bellum/pseuds/Scriptor_Bellum
Summary: Although Tuada thinks that if he were a little stronger, this might be the perfect opportunity to slip away since Madame is trusting him to go into the room himself, and she’s not looking, the fact is that he’s not strong enough to run. Madame may not be watching, but the security staff are. If he does anything but go inside to give this woman what she paid for, security is going to stop him.If he absolutely refuses to do this, he runs the risk of being sent back to the slavers. And no matter what, he isnotgoing to go back to them. That’s not happening.So he steels himself, walks inside the room, and closes the door.





	Exodus

**Author's Note:**

> Soooo, this is a multi-chapter fic based on a request I got a while back on my monster blog!
> 
> The request was:
> 
> **A male Predator gets captured by alien slavers. He was chained up, starved & repeatedly beaten within an inch of his life, but his captors refused 2 kill him & always kept him strong enough to b barely alive, bt too weak 2 fight back or die a warrior’s death. He gets sold to a deep undrground ‘pleasure club’ on a planet he’s not sure of, bt alot of other aliens n humans visit it. He does a few ‘private dances’ for a h female, there’s mutual attraction & they go from there. Multi chptr fic? YEET**
> 
>  
> 
> So, damn, I had to do this! Honestly, this is the first big thing I ever tried to write with regard to the Yautja, so there may be a few mistakes, but I'm very happy with the way the first chapter turned out!
> 
> The Auroreans, as well as Madame's species and some other species that will show up throughout the fic, are of my own creation! ~~Xenomorphs probably won't show up, ahhh sorry~~
> 
> This is also being cross-posted to my monster blog on Tumblr, monstrousboyfriends!
> 
> Please enjoy, and make sure to leave a comment if you liked it!! <3

The name of the place he’s ended up in, Tuada thinks, is _Shadow_ _shine_ _._

He’s too tired and in too much pain to care except that if he ever gets access to any communication devices, he needs to remember what this place is called. Where it is exactly, he isn’t sure – humans frequent it, so it has to be somewhere in or near the Milky Way galaxy, right?

It’s been a long couple of months, during which he would have preferred the option to die rather than be so humiliated. The beings who kidnapped him were little more than energy given a form of shimmering light. Powerful, intelligent, callous. Auroreans. Not a terrible species as a rule, most of them are benevolent scientists, but the ones who took him have displayed remarkable cruelty.

They have no need to eat, so they decided they wouldn’t feed him enough just to see what would happen. Just to make sure he was too weak to fight back.

They kept him bound in thick chains in case he felt the inclination to attempt escape. Of course, with everything else they did to him, it would have been impossible.

They turned all manner of weapons on him to make him think twice about doing anything they would consider stupid. There are scars littering his body now, but the majority of them are on his face. They’re most prominent on his mandibles, and they still hurt when they’re touched. Some of them are so fresh he’s not sure if they’ll actually scar over or not.

The way these beings spoke, this was something they did regularly; kidnapping other people and torturing them before selling them to someone who would put them to work of some kind. Apparently they hadn’t ever ‘had a Yautja’ before.

Well, after today, they don’t have one anymore, because he’s been sold.

The woman he was sold to is the one in charge of this club, and she’s distinctly not human, not Yautja, not Aurorean… he has no idea what exactly she is. Although she looks vaguely human, there are other features that paint her as _something_ alien. She didn’t give him her real name, telling him that he can address her as _Madame_ “like everyone does”.

As she cleaned him up, she explained that Shadowshine is among the only clubs on this planet (whatever it is) to offer complete sexual services to its patrons, and graciously let him know that because he’s new here and has been through a lot already, she doesn’t expect him to perform those kinds of things right away. Evidently, he’s going to be doing private dances for the first week that he’s here. It’s supposed to help him settle in and get comfortable with the atmosphere.

Honestly, Tuada doubts that’s ever going to happen. Ever since he set foot in here, that feeling of being uneasy and hurt and wanting to _leave_ has barely lessened.

At the very least, Madame seems sympathetic to his plight. She led him to a room that was supposed to be his, and as she did, she babbled on and on to him. She talked about how she doesn’t like buying people from those Aurorean slavers – in fact, the word she used was something in her native tongue that carried the same weight as something like _“_ _those bastards”_ ) – but she does it. Both to supply her club with workers, and to make sure the people they’re selling don’t end up in worse hands.

Tuada feels like he could make some comment about how her hands aren’t exactly great, but he manages to keep his mouth shut while she’s talking. She’s not actively hurting him, she’s trying to give him time to adjust to the new environment, and this place probably, honestly, is leagues better than the tons of other places he could have ended up. He can think of several more horrifying places or people to have been sold to.

Even with the clothing he’s given, which amounts to mostly mesh that leaves very little to the imagination, he feels exposed. He doesn’t have his typical armor, or his helmet that allows him to properly speak more than a few broken sentences. Those are luxuries that he hasn’t had since the slavers took him. He should count himself lucky that he’s somehow able to even _breathe_ without his helmet’s filters. He’s not sure how, but as long as he’s able to, he’s not going to waste energy questioning that. Why he’s not suffocating is the least of his problems as long as he’s breathing.

Although he wants to smash the mirror in the room when he looks into it, he knows it’s not going to do any good. At best, he’ll end up more injured along with the storm of miserable emotions inside of him and the wounds the slavers gave him. At worst, an angry outburst will make Madame reconsider not treating him harshly.

The most infuriating part is that he can barely remember those he called family, friends, teammates. Are they looking for him at all, whoever they are? Do they miss him? Do they even know he’s gone? He knows that group he was bonded to was small, but surely that just means his absence would be noticed more.

When Madame comes back to the room, it’s to lead him to the area where his first private performance will be. He caught a glimpse of it earlier; there are secluded rooms, each one with a door that walls them off from everyone else.

She appraises him and gives a nod of approval at his appearance before grabbing him by the arm to guide him. On the way, she gives him some meager information about the client he’ll be serving. Mostly that the client is a human female who’s been looking for a new experience. “She only ever wants dances,” Madame prattles as she approaches the room with Tuada in tow. “Nothing else! Quiet girl, shy I guess, but very nice, very pretty, and she always tips well, so you’ll have _something_ to look forward to, honey.”

It doesn’t matter to him. The only ‘something to look forward to’ he wants is getting out of here. He’s still a little too weak for that, unfortunately. Besides, just like the Auroreans’ ship, this club has security. Any escape attempt will likely be squashed immediately. The only ones coming in and out are the establishment’s customers or the people who run this place.

He’s going to have to think up a plan. Hopefully he can recover in the next week, and he’ll have a plan to break out by the time he’s strong enough to make a run for it.

Until then… he’s just going to have to do the best he can to stay alive.

Despite Madame being in this for less than noble reasons, Tuada tries not to think of her as a terrible person. She patched as many of his wounds as she could, she won’t starve him, and she’s not throwing him headfirst into the literal deep end of the club’s services. And she’s trying. It’s unfortunate that all he can think about is leaving here, otherwise he might be a little more grateful to her. He can assume that most of the other employees here, if not all of them, are ones she bought from the slavers. They seem well cared for and even happy. Maybe her reasons aren’t noble, but her actions are, and that’s something he can respect.

This isn’t a bad place; it’s just not where he belongs.

His thoughts rattle apart when Madame gives him a pat on the back as she gestures to the door of the private partition. “Alright, sweetie. She paid for half an hour, so that’s how long you’re gonna be in there dancing for her. She’s okay with you getting a little close and grinding up against her if you want to, but if you’re not comfortable with that yet, it’s not something she specifically asks to be included. Just, you know… get in there and feel the music, move naturally – be confident and charming, ya big galoot! You’re gonna do great.”

There’s a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that makes him feel decidedly like he is _not_ going to do great. Nor does he particularly care about how well he’s going to do. “Gonna do great,” he parrots to please her. If there’s a chance that Madame’s kind treatment may be revoked if he doesn’t at least try, then he has to try. He has to stay alive and get out of here.

“That’s the spirit!” Madame’s face lights up at his apparent eagerness. If he’s not mistaken, she almost looks proud. “Now, there’s a button in there for you to press if you need help. It’s at the bottom of the pole so you can tap it with your foot in case you don’t feel safe. If you press that, security will come to take care of things. Just try not to press it on accident, yeah?” She reaches over and opens the door, waving a hand at the young lady inside. “Got some fresh blood for you today, hon!” She gives Tuada another pat, this time on his shoulder. “One of the security will be back here in half an hour to take you back to your room, doll. Have fun, okay?”

With that, she heads off toward the bar, calling to the bartender in her native tongue.

Although Tuada thinks that if he were a little stronger, this might be the perfect opportunity to slip away since Madame is trusting him to go into the room himself, and she’s not looking, the fact is that he’s not strong enough to run. Madame may not be watching, but the security staff are. If he does anything but go inside to give this woman what she paid for, security is going to stop him.

If he absolutely refuses to do this, he runs the risk of being sent back to the slavers. And no matter what, he is _not_ going to go back to them. That’s not happening.

So he steels himself, walks inside the room, and closes the door.

Sitting on what looks like a nice, expensive leather couch is a human female who seems fairly relaxed, as if she’s been happily awaiting his arrival. It’s hard to judge because she’s sitting, but Tuada thinks she must be about two feet shorter than he is, and certainly more petite in general. Her hair is tied in a loose ponytail that’s been pulled over her shoulder, fanning out in blonde waves where the tips end near the top of her chest. She’s dressed modestly, unlike the club’s dancers, and bright green eyes are shining at him, set in pale skin.

“Oh,” she breathes when she sees him. She even leans forward a little. “You’re… new, huh? What are you? What’s your name?”

If it’s possible for him to feel even more exposed than when he put on this outfit, he is now. Does she want a dance or does she want to ask him a barrage of questions? It’s a good thing he understands English even if he struggles to speak it. All these questions would seem overwhelming and would be impossible to answer if he didn’t even know what she was saying.

Finally, he settles on repeating, “New. Yes.” As for the other questions, he supposes there’s no harm in answering them. “Yautja – name, Tuada.”

She still looks absolutely starstruck by him. “Yautja… a… _Predator?_ ” Her eyes sparkle. “Wow. And – that means your name, it’s Tuada, right?”

He nods.

“My name’s Chloe. It’s nice to meet you.” The smile she gives him reminds him of the one Madame gave him while she was fixing his wounds, and yet, there’s something… different about it. It’s softer and seems to contain something that he can’t really identify. The closest thing he can liken it to in Yautja terms is mating intent. The way a male or female look at each other when they want to express sexual interest in one another.

That may be the most similar thing he can describe it with, but that’s still not quite right. That’s not really what it is. But he doesn’t know exactly what that look in her smile is.

“So,” she hums, “do you wanna get started? This song is nice, and… well… you’re very handsome.” Her face flushes a muted pink, which is strange given that Madame said this woman is here often, paying for exactly what he’s going to give her. That color is what humans turn when they’re angry or embarrassed. She’s clearly not angry. Why would she be flustered?

… Maybe she’s just excited. Humans turn that color when they’re excited too, he thinks.

He doesn’t particularly _want_ to start this. Though it seems he has very little choice. So he simply clicks a few times and slowly walks up to the pole that’s only a few feet away from the couch where Chloe is sitting.

It’s humiliating, and also sort of intimidating. Tuada has no experience at all with any type of dancing – especially this kind which he knows is supposed to be erotic. The truth is, he doesn’t have much experience with _anything_ erotic. Although he’s mated a few times himself, nothing ever really came of it. No life mate bond, no offspring.

Actually, he’s fairly sure that he’s never even had a sexual encounter with the same female twice. There’s nothing exceptionally attractive about him, as far as Yautja go, other than that fact that he’s a Blooded hunter. His face is mostly plain, not light or dark but with mottled spots of both in a few places, some sparse quills above his eyes. His dreadlocks are longer than his teammates (from what little he remembers, at least, because the longest of theirs reached partway down their shoulders, while Tuada’s are nearly to his waist) and the only adornment in them is a strong band that pulls them back away from his face.

The only remarkable thing about his appearance are the deep violet striations that wrap around his hips, twist up the sides of his waist, and come to an end between his shoulder blades. It’s not strange for Yautja have markings like this; the color is uncommon, however, and his markings look as if they were made by the claws of some violent animal. From what he can remember, some in the past teased him that the shape of his markings were “the true mark of a natural-born hunter,” though it’s clear that nobody truly believed that.

Despite the fact that he’s not sure about his ability, he has to at least try. Even if it’s a disaster, nobody can say he didn’t _try._

When he does a cursory walk around the pole in an effort to get a sense of the space – and in Madame’s words, “feel the music” – he can see the button Madame mentioned. It’s not exactly hidden, but if you weren’t looking for it, you probably wouldn’t know it was there. It’s not very big, it’s painted the same color as the floor, and it doesn’t really stand out. It’s closer to the pole, so it’s also not the kind of thing he could hit by accident.

He keeps his eyes on the ground as he walks, eventually pausing near the front where Chloe seems to be waiting for him to start. She doesn’t look impatient, rather a bit concerned. Idly, Tuada wonders if she knows that all the people who’ve given her dances before came from the slavers. If she does, then it makes no sense why she would seem concerned.

“New,” he says again, his core burning with the shame of admitting vulnerability. How the fuck is he even supposed to move? What does she expect? Is he supposed to move like he’s mating with someone? “To this,” he elaborates.

Chloe’s smile is patient and kind. “That’s okay, I understand. Just do whatever feels right.”

A stream of frustrated clicks leave him before he can stop himself. It doesn’t feel right. None of this feels right! He doesn’t want to be here! He growls lowly before taking a breath and turning his attention to the music that’s playing. It’s understated without an aggressive bass, something that should be easy to dance to… or make love to.

… _Been too long since we’ve held each other_

_Kissed and touched without having to wonder_

_If we belong together_

_You know we belong together_

_You know there’s nothing better_

_Just let me run my fingers through your hair now_

_Forget everything you knew and don’t be scared now_

_All you need is_

_Right here, right here_

_You know all I need is_

_Right here, right here…_

Tuada tries to approach it like he would approach a mission; lock in on the thing that makes it easiest to focus on his goal. During a hunt, that means letting the thought of a trophy, achievement, pride in himself, praise from his superiors, motivate him to catch his prey. In this situation, it means listening to the music, letting it flow through him, and just moving how it makes him want to move.

That takes the form of, initially, closing his eyes and swaying almost his entire body from side to side. When he opens his eyes, he takes a chance, shifting a foot over and pivoting his weight from one side to the other. He keeps his foot where it is now, and repeats the action again. Then again. And again. Before long, he’s gyrating his hips to the rhythm of the music. It’s slow and sensual, and Tuada at least _thinks_ he’s doing a good job.

He glances over at Chloe, and she’s got a grin on her face. The blush has spread down into her neck. In addition, her thighs are squeezed together, and her fingers on both hands are pressing against the tops of them as if she wants to slide them inside to pleasure herself.

Well, those are definitely results. Perhaps he’s not as bad at this as he thought he’d be. He doesn’t know whether or not the aim of this is to have Chloe touching herself, but he supposes if she does, it can’t hurt his chances at being considered an asset. That would mean he’s worthy to keep instead of sending back to the Aurorean slavers.

Tuada moves around slightly, and when he does, some of the injuries that the slavers gave him hurt. A couple of them are new enough to be still burning with pain, and a couple are old enough that they just ache. There are a small number of the wounds that don’t bother him at all; most of them do. He does his best to disguise his wincing as (what he hopes is) a seductive movement of his mandibles.

He reaches one arm back, running his claws down parts of his dreadlocks before tracing them down his chest. Rather than let his hand fall, he stretches his arm upward so his claws wrap around the pole. Although it does cause him some pain from his injuries being pulled at, it also shows off the defined muscles of his arm, chest, and abs.

If the little gasp of, “ _Ohh!_ ” that Chloe gives is any indication, that move was a good call on his part.

It’s a good thing he immediately swivels around to walk around the pole again, or she might see the very, very, very small grin he makes with his mandibles. He can’t help it. Even though he doesn’t want to be here, a challenge is a challenge. Getting a reaction out of her is a matter of pride. It’s something he’s never done before, and he’s doing it well enough to impress someone who watches these dances frequently.

Tuada moves in such a way that the mesh outfit he was given shows off his markings as he starts to walk. The manner in which he moves makes his wounds hurt again, but he grits his teeth and mandibles together and all that escapes is a tiny hiss that can’t be heard over the music.

What can be heard over the music, though, are Chloe’s next words. “Oh, my God!”

He assumes it’s a reaction to his markings. Although he’s unremarkable on the whole, they can be stunning to someone who’s not accustomed to a Yautja’s markings.

“Oh, my God, oh, my God, oh, my God!” When she repeats it and suddenly there are fleshy hands touching his back, however, he realizes it’s not his markings that she’s reacting to.

It’s the fact that one of his wounds has opened up, and he’s currently dripping neon green blood onto the private room floor.

Once Tuada realizes this, all he can manage to say in response is, “ _Fuck._ ”


End file.
